Loading Audiobook Player...
Married Before Midnight - Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 61
Author: Novels Audio
[audiohtml]https://st42066.ispot.cc/audiobooks/2025/8334.mp3[/audiohtml]
Married Before Midnight
Chapter 61: A Role Not in the Script
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Maplewood University’s theater building, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. Charlotte Carter stood outside the audition room, her fingers nervously tapping against the clipboard in her hands. She hadn’t planned on auditioning for the Film Department’s short movie project—she had enough on her plate with rehearsals for the upcoming play. But something had pulled her here, an inexplicable urge she couldn’t ignore. She glanced down at the application form she’d filled out at the last minute, her name scrawled in hurried handwriting.
What am I doing? The door to the audition room swung open, and a student assistant poked her head out. “Charlotte Carter? You’re up next.” Charlotte took a deep breath and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the camera crew huddled behind a monitor while the director, a wiry graduate student named Derek, sat at a table with a script in hand. And then she saw him. Jameson Blackwell leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
Her stomach twisted. “Charlotte, right?” Derek said, flipping through his notes. “Great. We’re doing cold reads today. You’ll be reading opposite Jameson Blackwell for the lead roles.” Her fingers tightened around the script. “Opposite Jameson Blackwell ?” Jameson Blackwell pushed off the wall, his lips quirking in a faint smirk. “Surprise.” She shot him a glare before forcing her attention back to Derek. “What’s the premise?” Derek grinned. “It’s a rom-com short. Two people fake a relationship to fool their families, then—shocker—fall for each other for real.” Charlotte’s pulse spiked. “That’s… predictable.”
Jameson Blackwell ’s voice was low, amused. “Or classic.” She ignored him, focusing on the script. But as she read the lines, something unsettling settled in her chest. The dialogue was sharp, the chemistry between the characters undeniable—and worst of all, it felt familiar. She looked up sharply. “Who wrote this?” Derek shrugged. “Jameson Blackwell pitched the concept. The screenwriting team fleshed it out.”
Her blood ran hot. Of course he did. The audition passed in a blur. She delivered her lines with practiced precision, but every glance, every shared breath with Jameson Blackwell felt charged. By the time they finished, Derek was grinning like he’d struck gold. “That was perfect,” he said. “You two are our leads.” Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but Jameson Blackwell cut in smoothly. “Looking forward to it.” She stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Jameson Blackwell followed, his long strides easily keeping pace. “You planned this,” she accused, whirling on him in the empty hallway. He tilted his head. “Planned what?” “This—this script! Who do you think I am? Some fool who falls for a few scripted scenes?” Jameson Blackwell studied her, his gaze steady. “I think… you’re falling for real, even without any scripted scenes.” Her breath hitched. Heat flooded her cheeks. She clenched her fists. “You’re unbelievable.”
She turned on her heel and walked away before he could see just how much his words had shaken her. --- The next day, filming began in a cozy set designed to look like a family kitchen. The scene called for Jameson Blackwell and Charlotte to play a couple making breakfast together, their interactions warm and intimate—enough to convince the fictional family watching them that their love was real. Charlotte adjusted the apron tied around her waist, avoiding Jameson Blackwell ’s eyes as the crew bustled around them. Derek clapped his hands. “Alright, we’re rolling. Remember, this is about chemistry. You don’t have to actually kiss, but I need the audience to believe you want to.”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “Action!” She stepped toward Jameson Blackwell , a coffee cup in hand, her pulse erratic. He turned to face her, his movements deliberate. The script called for her to brush past him, their bodies close but not touching—but the moment she neared him, the air between them thickened. His eyes locked onto hers. Not acting. Real. Her breath stuttered. The lines between performance and truth blurred. The cameras, the crew, the script—none of it mattered. Only this did. The way his gaze traced her face, the warmth of his body so close to hers, the unspoken tension that had been building between them for weeks. She could feel his breath against her lips.
Her fingers trembled around the cup. And then—she broke. Charlotte turned away sharply, her heart hammering. “Cut,” Derek called, but she barely heard him. Jameson Blackwell said nothing. He just stepped back, his expression unreadable, and walked off set. She stayed frozen, her hands still shaking. Derek grinned at the playback. “That was gold. The tension—wow. You two are naturals.”
Charlotte forced a smile, but her mind was elsewhere. Later, in the quiet of her dorm room, she stared at her phone, Jameson Blackwell ’s name glowing on the screen. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Stop this already… She deleted it. You’re scaring me. Deleted again. In the end, she sent nothing. But for the first time, she admitted the truth to herself: Jameson Blackwell made her heart race faster than any role she’d ever played.